


Do You See What I See?

by msgenevieve



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Daddy!Killian, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, holiday fic, very mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The screeching cries of small creatures rise around him, seeming to almost rent his eardrums in two, and Killian decides that this place is indeed Hell on Earth. And he should know.  He’s been to Hell, after all.   (Set in the not-too-distant future and contains very vague spoilers for 5B.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You See What I See?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Captain Swan Secret Santa on tumblr. My giftee @chameron-and-captain-swan requested fluffy daddy!Killian, and that was what I was determined to give her.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The screeching cries of small creatures rise around him, seeming to almost rent his eardrums in two, and Kilian decides that this place is indeed Hell on Earth. 

And he should know.  He’s  _been_  to Hell, after all.

Another parent’s shoulder shoves against his, and he sets his teeth in a grimace.  How it possible that there are so many people in this bloody city, let alone in this blasted shop?   The warmth inside the building should be welcoming after the frigid streets outside, but he finds it cloying, almost claustrophobic.

The tug on his hand brings him back to himself, as does the dulcet (nagging, but still dulcet) tones of his firstborn child.  “Come  _on,_ Da!”   The small hand curled in his delivers a surprisingly strong jerk.  “Too  _slow_!”

The last word is almost hysterical with disapproval and behind him, he hears Emma laugh. “You heard the lady,” she murmurs close to his ear, then he feels the firm press of her hand between his shoulderblades through his coat.  “Stop dragging your feet, sailor.”

Despite his irritation with the press of humanity currently surrounding them, he grins.  “It’s a true mark of a man of honour that he lets himself be governed by not one but two indomitable females,” he tosses over his shoulder as his hand is wrenched in another urgent tug. 

“Three if you count my mother.”

“Aye.”  His grin becomes a wry smile as he thinks of his small-but-fierce mother-in-law. “I usually do.”

They’re making their way into the cavernous depths of a toy shop that his beloved wife had insisted was a right of a passage for any child, particularly during this realm’s festive season. The excitement glittering in his daughter’s eyes at the prospect had decided the matter, although the promise of two nights spent in a sumptuous New York City hotel suite, far away from any small-town shenanigans, had definitely swayed his decision.

“Oh, my  _God_!  They actually have those turtledove ornaments!”

“ _Hurry up, Da_!”

Emma’s disbelieving exclamation mingles with his daughter’s plaintive request, and for the umpteenth first time since a tiny pink bundle had been placed in his clumsy embrace three years ago, he feels himself being pulled in two different directions.  It’s an enjoyable tussle, one he treasures more than he could ever put into words, although at this moment in time, it’s a tussle he could do without.

“Damn, looks like there’s only two left on the display.”  Emma’s chin grazes his shoulder, her hand curling into the crook of his elbow to pull him to a sudden halt. “I’m going to grab them now before someone else beats me to it.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about – turtledoves? – but when he turns to tell her just that, her face is glowing with same childish glee that had taken possession of their daughter since the three of them had left Storybrooke late yesterday, and the words vanish from his tongue, his irritation instantly dissolving.   

“Whatever you wish, my darling, but we both know our offspring isn’t as patient as my good self.”   He nods at the small human literally swinging from his good arm in her impatience to propel him into forward motion.  “Shall I take her on ahead to the bright pink aisle?”

Emma raises one dark blonde eyebrow in challenge.  “You sure you’re up for it? It’ll be a madhouse of crazed females.”

“I  _do_  know how to handle women, love, even if they are only knee-high.”

His wife purses her lips at that, but merely offers a mild, “Okay, I’ll catch up with you. Good luck, Captain.”  He does, however, catch a glimpse of the knowing smirk that curves her lovely mouth before she turns back towards the counter they’d passed upon their arrival. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ignoring the faint quiver of dread that tickles the back of his neck, he puffs out a dismissive snort.   _Bloody woman, putting the seed of doubt in his head_ , he thinks with loving exasperation.

Like a soldier preparing to go into battle, he tightens his grip on his daughter’s hand, prompting her to gaze up at him with her mother’s eyes.  As always, the sight of her little face makes his chest ache in the best possible way.  He’s biased, no doubt, but with her dark, straight hair and heart-shaped face, she’s the best of both of them, and there are days when he cannot believe he had any part in creating such a child.

(Although he does remember the night she was created  _very_  well indeed, so there’s that.)

“Shall we go see the dolls, my little love?”

“No.” Tugging her fingers out of his, she wraps both hands around his right forearm, her feet barely touching the floor as she skips along beside him. “Animals.”

While processing this new development, he presses his left arm protectively against his chest as yet another shopper jostles his shoulder.  He’s grateful for the lifelike appearance of his newly acquired fake hand –  _before your mind wanders into the gutter,_ Emma had told him with a teasing smile,  _it’s called a prosthetic, not an attachment_ _–_ but he’s still not entirely comfortable with it, especially when he’s trying to herd a squirming, excited child through a sea of humanity. 

“I don’t think they have animals here, darling.”

A tiny frown creases her smooth forehead. “Henry  _said_.”

Oh, how he wishes he had a free hand to text his stepson and enquire exactly  _what_  ideas he’s been putting into Eva’s head. However, as his daughter currently thinks the sun and moon rises around her half-brother, Killian merely smiles. “Oh well, if  _Henry_  says there are animals here, then surely there must be a menagerie around here somewhere.”

Later, he will replay the next sequence of events over and over in his mind, wondering at the fates that allowed his child to slip from his grasp and from his sight in a heartbeat.

He remembers a sudden press of people disembarking from the mechanical elevator on their right.  He remembers a small, pinch-faced woman knocking his left elbow, causing his gloved fake hand to become caught in the shoulder strap of her purse. He remembers feeling Eva’s hands slip from around his arm and the sound of her excited squeal of “I see them, Da!” as she happily allowed herself to be caught up in a rush of children, whisking her away from him.

(Later, Emma will no doubt tell him that he always overdramatises everything.  In that moment, however, when he realises that he has lost their child in a crowd of strangers, all he knows is sheer panic.)

He disentangles himself from the woman’s purse, earning himself an icy glare, as if she feared he was trying his luck at pickpocketing.  Dipping his head in the most disdainful bow he can summon, he pushes his way clear of the crowd, only to find the aisle devoid of any sign of his daughter. “Eva!”

His shout receives a few disapproving glances but no answer, and his gut tightens.    _Dolls,_  he tells himself.   _She likes those wretched dolls._ He checks the signs posted overhead, then promptly starts off in what he dearly hopes is the right direction. 

_What the devil is that doll’s name,_ he muses grimly as he strides as quickly through the store as the crowd allows, his gaze sweeping each aisle as he passes for the familiar figure of his child.   _That blonde creature that possesses so many material goods it makes one wonder if she isn’t some kind of pirate herself?_

No matter how many nooks and crannies he searches on his way to the bright pink aisle, Eva is nowhere to be seen, and he swallows down the burning sting of fear at the back of his throat. When his phone vibrates in his coat pocket, he retrieves it to see a message from Emma, and his sense of dread escalates.

_Well, I’m in the Barbie aisle. Why aren’t you here too?_ _J_

Bloody hell. 

He quickens his step, reaching his destination in less than half a minute, telling himself that he will come around the corner to see that Eva has found her mother, that the two women he loves most in the world will be there, their heads close together as they painstakingly debate the merits of each doll.

Alas, Emma is alone, and she frowns at the sight of him, also alone.  Before she can speak, he holds up both hands (one real, one fake, both seeming to tremble) in supplication, his words coming out in a rush. “She slipped away from me in the crowd. I’m so sorry. I’ve been looking everywhere for but-”

His voice cracks with shame on the last word and Emma is suddenly by his side, her palms cool against his heated cheeks.  “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, her voice low and calm, reaching into the heart of him, slowing his racing blood. “Take a deep breath and tell me when you saw her last.”

He clears his throat as best he can, but there’s still a lump the size of a fist lodged there. “I’m afraid it was only a few moments after we parted company with you, Swan.”  As they make their way back to the main aisle of the shop, their heads turning in unison as they search for a glimpse of their errant daughter, he tells her how his fake hand had become entangled with a woman’s purse (she rubs his arm sympathetically at that) and how quickly Eva had slipped away from him.

“It was if she’d been spirited away by magic,” he finishes, standing on his toes to peer over the heads of the shoppers heading towards the bicycle department at the back of the shop.

“Well, at least we know we’re not dealing with magic here,” his wife mutters when he’s finished his sorry tale. “Think. We were talking about dolls just this morning, so if she’s not here, where would she be?”

He clutches at her hand as the answer comes to him. “She said she wanted to see the animals.”

Emma’s brow furrows, then her eyes light up.  “Stuffed toys. Let’s go.”

There is indeed a menagerie in this shop, thankfully on the same floor, and Emma’s knowledge of the layout means that they reach their goal swiftly.  The aisles are, of course, teeming with children and their parents, all engaged in various stages of the usual ritual; wide-eyed discovery swiftly followed by passionate negotiations.

Emma cranes her neck, then gestures towards the next aisle. “You go left, I’ll go right.”

He nods, his throat almost too tight to speak.  This is his fault, all his fault, and while Emma has been nothing but understanding, he knows she must blame him.  “I’m  _so_ sorry-“

“We’ll find her,” Emma tells him, the certainty blazing in in her green eyes instantly reassuring him. “It will be okay.”

He nods again, but before he can turn away, she’s clutching at his shoulder. “Wait, there she is.”

His heart leaps in his chest, and he follows the line of Emma’s pointing finger.  Twenty or so feet away, in the midst of a swirling crowd of excited, chattering strangers, their child is calmly stroking what looks like a stuffed wildebeest, her lips moving in a conversation only she can hear.   

There might be dozens of people between them, but Killian still manages to see the exact instant their daughter realises she is lost.  Emma obviously sees it too, a soft sound of distress falling from her lips.

The green eyes that had been shining with excitement begin to fill with tears, her chin (again, a miniature version of her mother’s) beginning to quiver, small hands clutching the stuffed toy close to her chest as her gaze darts from side to side, searching and seeking but not finding the faces she so desperately wants to see.

He calls her name, even though he knows it’s pointless over the festive tunes being loudly piped through the shop.  “Eva!”

They begin to push her way through the crowd, any pretense at courtesy abandoned. “She can’t hear you,” Emma grits out as she offers a hasty smile of apology to an elderly man whose foot she’s apparently just trodden upon.  “Stupid Christmas carols.”

There are some things that the music can’t drown out, though.  Killian’s heart has been broken many, many times in his long life, but the sound of his daughter crying in distress sends a violent crack deep into the depths of it.  He starts to dart forward, prepared to shoulder charge anyone foolish enough to stand between him and his child, but Emma grabs his arm. “When we reach her, don’t make a big deal out of her being lost.”

He frowns, but heeds her words (he usually does) as they keep pushing their way through the crowd, doing his best to swallow back the panic that’s gripped him since he felt Eva’s little hands slip from his arm.  “What do you mean?”

“Just play it cool, okay?”   Emma slips gracefully between a particular portly fellow and a sullen teen with a skill no doubt honed during her bounty hunting days. “I’ll explain later.”

Five seconds later (longest five seconds in recent history, Killian decides), they’ve reached Eva’s side, interrupting what appears to be the first stages of an emotional meltdown.  She’s still clutching the stuffed wildebeest to her chest, her face shiny with tears, her mouth quivering with emotion.  When she catches sight of them, her expression is one of both relief and betrayal, and Killian’s heart cracks a little more.

“Hey, baby!”  Emma crouches beside their red-faced daughter, curling one arm around Eva’s small shoulders as she presses a kiss to one damp cheek. “Did you find anything good for us to buy?”

Eva blinks and hiccups in the same breath, indecision flickering across her face as she looks from him to Emma, and Killian knows she’s picked up on her mother’s calm demeanor.  It seems Emma had been right not to make a fuss, and he flashes her a smile of thanks as he joins her in crouching beside their daughter. “Who’s that you’ve got there, love?”

Eva cradles the toy against her chest, sniffing loudly. “Don’t know,” she admits as she lifts her head, her glittering green eyes meeting his. “I just met him.”

Adoration - pure and vast and achingly vulnerable - wells up inside him, and he has to blink his own eyes clear of the warm press of tears.   _Oh, my little one. You always know the best way to your father’s heart._

“Whatever his name, he looks like a most majestic beast.”  Sweeping her up into his arms, he kisses the top of his daughter’s head, the fur of the stuffed animal tickling his chin as the toy is squashed between them.  “He’ll make a fine addition to your private zoo, I’m sure.”

Emma’s hand is warm on the back of his neck, her other arm still curled around Eva’s back, and he hears his own relief in her voice when she speaks. “What do you say we give the pink aisle a miss and go see if we can find a Millennium Falcon for Henry instead?”

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Alright Swan, out with it.”

Emma blinks at him from where she’s sprawled in the corner of the plump leather couch in small living room of their hotel suite.  “Out with what?”

“You told me not to make a fuss when we found Eva today and it was definitely the right thing to do.”  Handing her one of the glasses of wine he’s just poured, he sinks down onto the couch beside her. “Milady is finally asleep, so perhaps you’d care to share your wisdom?”

Emma flashes him a grateful smile for the wine, taking an appreciative sip before she answers him.  “If we’d made a big deal out of it, she would have been  _way_  more upset.”  She shifts beside him, her long legs stretched out in front of her, sock-clad feet on the coffee table, her ankles elegantly crossed.  “Hopefully, in a few days, she’ll have forgotten it ever happened.”

Killian takes a sip of his own wine, suspecting his clever wife will be proven right.  The rest of their day had passed enjoyably and had been completely devoid of any further emotional drama, and Eva’s chatter over her early dinner and during her bedtime ritual had been as carefree and joyful as usual.  “I must say, our extended family has proven quite the expert when it comes to getting themselves lost.”

Emma smiles at him, the tenderness in her eyes making his pulse quicken.  “We’re pretty good at finding each other too, don’t forget.”

It’s been almost five years since the moment she’d kissed him fiercely in the murky depths of the Underworld and told him that she would have travelled to the end of time itself to bring him back to her, but the memory is seared into his soul as if it were yesterday.  “How could I  _ever_ forget?”

They don’t bother finishing their wine before they go to bed, too impatient for each other to wait, too eager to lose themselves in the warmth of never-enough kisses and touches.  Conscious of the open doors between them and their sleeping daughter in the other bedroom, they love each other in hushed, almost reverent whispers. 

Afterwards, he holds her close, her tumble of blonde hair carefully tucked aside so as not to tickle his nose.  She falls asleep with her hand on his chest, splayed over his heart ( _her_ heart) and Killian Jones thinks that he might just be the luckiest man in this whole damned city.

~*~

The sound of a child crying infiltrates his dreams, and he comes awake with a sharp breath.  He cocks his head to the side, his heart sinking at the sound of muffled sobbing coming from the bedroom next to theirs. “Eva’s awake.”

“I’ll go,” Emma murmurs beside him as she rolls over, her voice thick with sleep. “She’s probably just frightened by the strange room.”

He gently overrides her offer, kissing her on the bare shoulder.  “Go back to sleep, Swan.” He has the awful certainty he knows what’s woken their daughter, and it’s something he would very much like to redress himself.  “I’ll go.”

There’s enough moonlight streaming in through the open curtains to let him see that Eva is sitting up in the single bed.  Her sleeping quarters at home is equipped with a very similar bed, so he doubts it’s the furniture that has her sobbing into her newly acquired stuffed animal.

“Hello, little love. Something wrong?”

There’s a loud sniff, then a hopeful, “Too dark?”

He hastily flicks on the bedside lamp, and instantly the room is reassuringly aglow. “My mistake, milady.” He dearly hopes his smile masks the guilt streaking through him. Of all the traits he may have wished to have passed onto his child, a fear of the darkness had definitely not been one of them.  She’s been much better lately, even sleeping without a nightlight at times, but it seems the events of the day have set her back. “There, that’s much better, isn’t it?”

 “Mmm.”

He perches on the side of the bed, momentarily wondering if he should have let Emma handle this one. She and Eva seemed to speak a secret language at times, so much so that if he didn’t love them both so much, he might feel left out.   “You know, it’s okay if you were scared today when you couldn’t see Mum and Da.”

Her little chin wobbles (the tiny dimple so like that of her mother’s that it makes his heart ache) as she scrubs at her wet eyes. “Yeah?”

“Getting lost can be very scary, and I should know.”   He moves to sit at the end of the bed, slinging his left arm around her pillows so she can cuddle into his side.  “Even fearsome pirates like meself get lost sometimes.”

She smiles for the first time since he’d entered the room, and the tight lump in his throat eases.  “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”  He grins as she thumps the stuffed toy onto his chest (he’s not sure if it’s been given a name as yet) and makes herself comfortable.  “A long time ago, before you were born, I got  _very_  lost, so lost that I couldn’t find my way home.”

She looks concerned by this revelation. “At the store?”

A dozen different memories flash through his mind, each one more harrowing than the last, but he merely nods and widens his eyes at his daughter.  “A  _really_  big store.”   He catches her little hand in his, swinging it in time with his words. “And do you know who found me?”

Eva shakes her head. “Who?”

He ducks down to meet her gaze for maximum effect. “Your mum, of course!”

The smile that breaks across her little face is like the sun cresting over clearing storm clouds after a storm at sea. “ _Oh!”_

“Your mum loved me so much that she travelled a long, _long_  way to find me.”  Even now, all these years later, the enormity of Emma’s trip to the Underworld to save him almost leaves him speechless. “ _And_ she battled all manner of beasties to bring me home.”

Eva’s other hand goes uncertainly to the head of her stuffed toy, her eyes growing widening as if to match his own expression. “Beasties?”

_Bugger_ ,  _too graphic for this time of night._  Time to steer the conversation back in the right direction, he tells himself.  “Aye, but Henry and Grandma and Grandpa were there to help, and Regina and Robin, of course, so all the beasties were sent away with their scurvy tails between their legs.”

“Were you scared?”

He doesn’t hesitate, even though there are nights when he thinks he can still feel the bruises and cuts and splintered bones he managed to incur before Emma had found him.  An eternity before he’ll forget the feel of his brother’s last bittersweet embrace, both of them laughing through their tears, knowing that this time, it truly was farewell.

“A little, but that was before I knew that your mum had come to save me.”  He pokes his daughter gently in the side with his finger, eliciting a high-pitched giggle.  “And you know what  _that_ means, don’t you?”

His daughter bites her bottom lip, her expression thoughtful. “What?”

 “It means that if you ever get lost, you don’t  _ever_  have to be scared.” 

“Why?”

Her favourite word, of course, along with  _how does_  and  _where is,_ and he smiles as he squeezes her hand gently. “Because  _nothing_  in this world, or any other world, could  _ever_ stop us from finding you.”

She considers this for a moment, looking at him with her mother’s eyes, then nods, apparently satisfied by the deal they’ve just struck.  “Good.”

Her tone makes him feels as though they should shake hands on it, and a tired chuckle bubbles up in his throat.  “I don’t know about you, but your old Da is very tired. Should we both try to go back to sleep?”

He sees the struggle on her face - she clearly wants to ask for another story - but her eyes are already closing. “Mmmm.”

He helps her wriggle down in the bed, then makes a production out of pulling up the covers and arranging her new animal companion just right.  Finally, when everything is arranged to her satisfaction, he brushes back the dark, silken bangs and kisses her warm forehead.  “Goodnight, little duckling.”

“Night.”

(He leaves the lamp on.

Just in case.)

His own bed is blissfully warm and welcoming, Emma’s legs tangling with his as he slips in beside her.  Curling her arm across his chest, she props her chin on his shoulder, her breath soft against his skin. “She okay?”

“Ship shape,” he tells her as he runs his hand down her back, his fingers finding the smooth, warm skin in the gap between tank and sleep pants.  “Like I said earlier, love, I know how to handle women, no matter how old they might be.”

Her quiet snort of laughter washes over him like the most lyrical of melodies. “So you keep saying.”

He grins, savoring the complete lack of anything resembling a crying child in the next room.  “May I point out that  _you_  agreed to marry me, Swan.”

“I did, didn’t I?”  She tucks herself into his side, fitting against him like a matching piece of a puzzle, just as she always does.  “I guess you’re not  _too_  bad.”

“Rude, Swan.”  He gives her lovely arse a gentle pinch in retaliation for this disgraceful lack of veneration, earning himself a sleepy punch to the bicep, then he closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sink into the sinfully deep hotel mattress, Emma’s embrace steadying like an anchor.   His last thought before sleep claims him is that he’s not the luckiest man in the city. 

He’s the luckiest man in the whole bloody realm.

 

 

~*~


End file.
